


Jeeves and the Misplaced Aphrodisiac

by triedunture



Category: Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-22
Updated: 2010-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-14 07:59:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triedunture/pseuds/triedunture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title kind of says it all. For the Christmas gift exchange! Merry Christmas, anonymous prompt-maker!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jeeves and the Misplaced Aphrodisiac

  
  
  
  
**Entry tags:**   
|   
[fic](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [jeeves](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/tag/jeeves)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Jeeves and the Misplaced Aphrodisiac**_  
Title: Jeeves and the Misplaced Aphrodisiac  
Pairing: Jeeves/Wooster  
Rating: R  
Warnings: frottage, filthy talk  
Summary: The title kind of says it all. For the Christmas gift exchange! Merry Christmas, anonymous prompt-maker!

<><><><>

  
"Jeeves!" The front door slammed, causing the gilt picture frames to rattle on the mantle. "Jeeves, rally round! Post haste! As in right this minute!"

Jeeves entered the foyer to find his master with his back pressed against the front door, chest heaving for breath, and bright blue eyes blown wide.

"You appear troubled, sir," Jeeves said.

"That sums up the whole thing nicely." Bertie moved from the door. His hands shook like castanets, and he shoved them into his trouser pockets when he noticed Jeeves staring at them. "Something awful has happened. Something truly bally awful."

As Bertie approached, Jeeves raised his eyebrow in alarm. "Have you been...running, sir? Your collar is positively soaked."

"We have bigger problems than my collar, Jeeves."

Jeeves actually took a step back, his visage a study in understated pain. "There is nothing more pressing than the state of a gentleman's collar, sir," he said severely.

Bertie laughed mirthlessly and stalked past his valet into the sitting room. "You might be singing a different tune in a mo'. No, Jeeves, no cocktail for me, thank you."

Jeeves retreated away from the martini shaker, which was usually his go-to gambit when the young master was upset. "Did you encounter something unsettling at your club this afternoon, sir?" he asked, for Bertie had lunched at the Drones that day.

Bertie sat in his favoured armchair in something of a crouch, folding in on himself so that his elbows sat on his hips and his chest aspired to be closer to his knees. "You could say that, Jeeves, you could certainly say that. I'm about to tell you something rather embarrassing, my good man, and I can only hope your massive brain will be able to save the day once more."

"I will endeavour to give you all the assistance I can, sir."

Bertie looked up at his valet miserably. "I've ingested a powerful aphrodisiac, Jeeves. In a few minutes, possibly less, I will be forcing myself on anything that moves. Hence my record-breaking sprint from Dover Street. The populace was not safe until I was far removed, you see."

Jeeves' eyebrow was now radiating incredulity. "What manner of aphrodisiac, sir?"

"Well, Bingo was fooling about with some powders and packets; something about snaring his latest goddess, I think. The chaps at the club were having a laugh over it. I came in at the tail end of the discussion, and, not knowing what the refreshing looking glass contained, took a swig of what I thought was an egg cream."

"And it was not an egg cream, sir?"

"Good Lord, no! It tasted awful, and when I asked the assembled blighters what I had just consumed, they could barely speak. The laughter was uproarious. Bingo finally calmed down enough to inform me I'd drank a king's ransom worth of some Chinese herb guaranteed to--" Bertie's face took on a reddish colour. "Erm, I won't repeat the exact phrase. Suffice to say, the subject is meant to turn into harlot. Can men be harlots?"

"I'm sure I don't know, sir."

"I suppose we'll see." Bertie shrank even further into himself. His limbs were all shaking now as if he was afflicted with chills. "I don't feel well at all, Jeeves. Am I running a fever?"

Jeeves placed his palm on Bertie's damp forehead and held it there for five long ticks of the second hand. "You're quite warm, sir," he said. "Perhaps a cool bath might help alleviate any discomfort."

Bertie nodded weakly. "Good thinking, Jeeves. Ice cold water, if you would. Better safe than sorry."

The two made their way to the salle de bain, Bertie wobbling on his feet and Jeeves supporting him with a steady hand under his elbow. "Just a little further, sir," Jeeves encouraged as they stepped onto the cool tiles. "If I may suggest, please take a seat and undress while I run your bath."

There was a small upholstered footstool in the master bathroom near the sink; Bertie usually sat on said footstool while trimming his toenails or scrubbing his arches. However, the footstool now became Bertie's base of operations. He perched upon it and popped off his shoes, then stripped off his socks and garters. "Dump in lots of soap bubbles, Jeeves," Bertie directed. "I doubt they will help with my medical condition, but my mental condition could use some pleasant fluffiness." He proceeded to shuck off his coat, tie, waistcoat, shirt, and undervest in a pile on the floor. Jeeves glanced at said pile with a forlorn eye, but dutifully distributed a healthy amount of soap bubbles into the filling bathtub.

Bertie was just wriggling out of his undershorts when Jeeves materialsed beside him, much like those yogi johnnies in the Himalayas do when they want to get from one point to another. "Allow me to assist you into the tub, sir," Jeeves said, offering his arm.

It was a fine arm, a sturdy arm. Bertie grasped it without hesitation. His fingers closed round a pleasantly firm bicep muscle clothed in warm black wool. His eyes focused suddenly on Jeeves' much-too-near face, the geometry of his nose and eyes, the triangular planes of his cheeks, the well-formed divot above his lips. A very nice divot, Bertie decided. Much nicer than any other he'd noticed, though, to be fair, he'd noticed a grand total of zero divots up to this moment in his life.

Bertie realised 1) he was on his feet and 2) he was staring. He glanced down and licked at his dry lips, but looking down just made said lips drier because now Bertie was afforded a view of Jeeves' torso, which was elegantly wrapped in its black silk waistcoat. No torso could wear a waistcoat like Jeeves', Bertie thought. It was just the thing.

"Jeeves," Bertie said faintly, "I believe that rummy potion is beginning to turn my normally gentlemanly brain to mush."

"Indeed, sir?" Jeeves didn't sound too concerned about the imminent danger, but Bertie knew that was just his way. A whole pack of tigers wouldn't phase Jeeves.

"I'm being quite honest on this point." Bertie trembled, and Jeeves obligingly wrapped an arm round his naked waist to steady him. "I--I feel I'm about to showcase a rather Jekyll and Hyde parlour trick, Jeeves. You should really bung me in the freezing suds before anything, well, untoward occurs!"

"Perhaps I should assess the situation, sir." Jeeves held Bertie out at arm's length and inspected him from stem to stern. Under that watchful eye, Bertie could only flush like a good hand of cards. He fought the urge to cover his nakedness with those hands, but he feared Jeeves had already caught sight of the rising problem, and there was really no reason to hide these things from Jeeves, as Jeeves sees and knows all.

"Hm," was all Jeeves said.

"I really think it's best if you leg it to your lair, Jeeves. Hole yourself up; barricade the door. I've heard tell of chaps using a straight-backed chair forced under the doorknob. Do you own a straight-backed chair, Jeeves?"

"I do not, sir."

"Well, better grab one from the kitchen." Bertie twitched and jumped like a nervous woodland creature as Jeeves pressed in closer. No longer at arm's length, he found himself very inside the Jeevesian orbit. "I am serious, man! In a few minutes, I can't be held responsible for my actions! I'll be as wild as a mad thing, Jeeves, and I daresay I will attempt to ravish you if you don't make your escape right this bally second!"

"My concern for your well-being prohibits me from leaving," Jeeves said. "If this aphrodisiac is as powerful as you say, sir--"

"It is! God, I feel it coursing through my veins like hellfire itself!"

"--then I shudder to think what will become of you if you don't find release." Jeeves reached over and turned off the taps, and without the rushing noise of water filling the bathtub, a hush of quiet stole over the bathroom. Bertie wondered if his pounding pulse could be heard echoing in the small space, or if it was just inside his own head? He watched Jeeves' hands closely as they came back to clasp Bertie's sharp hipbones.

"Seeing as this is an emergency of the highest degree, those needs should be met," Jeeves said, walking backwards very gracefully, not even looking over his shoulder as he weaved round the footstool and door-frame, all the while tugging Bertie along with him.

"O-oh, I say. This sounds highly inappropriate," Bertie protested weakly.

"As you noted, sir, it is a better alternative than endangering the entire city with your animal fervor. Now, if you will sit on the edge of the mattress, yes, thank you, sir, I propose oral measures to be taken first. Is that satisfactory to you, sir?" In an eye-blink, Jeeves had Bertie arranged just so, and the valet himself had taken the kneeling position in front of a staggered and jittery young master.

"Golly, I don't thinkkkkkya!"

"Thinkkkkkya" is, of course, a word Bertie had just invented that, roughly translated, means "though I'm absolutely certain this is a terrible idea, your mouth certainly feels bally pleasant on my unmentionable parts."

Jeeves was unquestionably a virtuoso in the art of dressing the young master in a hurry, but Bertie hadn't realised how those skills also worked in reverse. Jeeves' other heretofore undiscovered talents were also making themselves known. Jeeves applied his silky tongue to Bertie's aching shaft with a practised thingness that made Bertie wonder about his valet's education; Jeeves had always maintained his vast collection of knowledge had been self-taught, but how in the world could _this_ area be investigated alone? Unless, Bertie thought, one was very bendy indeed.

Bertie pushed the idea from his head; such things would not go very far in calming the Wooster blood, and neither would Jeeves if the man insisted on continuing in this vein. Bertie looked down the long span of his own torso, intent on giving Jeeves what-for, but the sight rather squashed any reprimand blooming on his tongue.

Jeeves' lips, which were normally a pale marble hue much like the rest of his face, were stained red from his exertions. The same feverish blush painted his high cheekbones and a swath of his neck as well. He was lapping and sucking at Bertie's cockhead with an exuberance Bertie had never observed in his quiet, unassuming manservant. But it was his gaze, heavy and dark and full of devilish pleasure, that broke the last levy of the young master's resolve. It travelled up Bertie's body and met his own gaze, steady and keen, with a bit of a twinkle even.

The thing holding Bertie back snapped, and he grasped Jeeves' perfectly black hair in his shaking hands. He dragged the man's head up, up, over his cock and his belly. Jeeves dropped the tip of his tongue into his navel as he went by, quick as a viper, and Bertie growled. He brought Jeeves all the way up to meet his eyes.

"I told you, you should have run," he hissed, and he rolled Jeeves over onto his back, his legs insinuating themselves between Jeeves' knees, his hands on his thick wrists. Jeeves was not a small man, being well over six foot and quite broad in the shoulders, but Bertie was possessed. The aphrodisiac had given him the strength of ten valets. He held Jeeves against the mattress and ground their hips together. Jeeves' blue eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open in a tiny O, but he made no noise.

"You never listen, Jeeves," Bertie continued. His manner was distant, as though he were viewing Jeeves' splayed form through a dense fog. He leaned down close, his face hovering just above Jeeves' face, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. He kissed Jeeves once on the lips.

Jeeves kissed back willingly, even followed when Bertie pulled away. A tiny noise of discontent worked its way past his throat. Bertie was looking down at him when he opened his eyes.

"I want to do many things with you," he said. "Things I don't have names for. Jeeves, I--"

Jeeves didn't speak in answer. He merely turned his head and kissed the inside of Bertie's wrist as it lay next to his face on the coverlet. Bertie nodded in understanding and dipped down for another taste of Jeeves' mouth.

It was an odd, delicious feeling for Bertie to press his naked body on top of Jeeves' clothed one. The starched wool suit scratched his skin. The silk waistcoat felt cool against his belly. Buttons dug in, the watch chain caught. "Enough of this," Bertie murmured, and he tore at the buttons and necktie with frantic tugs of his fingers.

Jeeves never did exit his clothing completely. His pinstripe trousers dangled from one ankle, tangled up with his underthings. His waistcoat was removed, and his shirt studs were unfastened, but his white shirt hung from his shoulders. His tie was lost somewhere on the floor along with his collar; Bertie had tossed them both aside.

Jeeves was surprisingly warm, his skin soft to the touch. Bertie hadn't been expecting solid ice, of course, but it was a jolt to see Jeeves--that unflappable, unruffled man--bound up in his disheveled half-on, half-off suit with an expression on his map that nearly approached human. "Turn over?" Bertie directed, and even his overpowering ardour couldn't keep the question from creeping into his voice. But Jeeves didn't seem concerned; he turned onto his stomach underneath the young master.

Bertie's sweat-slick chest rested atop Jeeves' well-formed shoulders, his gracefully arched backbone, his bunched and wrinkled shirt. The position allowed Bertie's wet cock to fit neatly between Jeeves' warm thighs. Bertie groaned. Jeeves' legs tightened obligingly.

"Remind me later, Jeeves: I don't pay you nearly enough," Bertie panted.

Something rumbled deep in the valet's chest. Bertie could feel it all along his own body, and it took him several moments to realise it was a sort of chuckle. Jeeves chuckling. It was a day for everyone to go mad, he supposed. He rocked against Jeeves' body, which in turn pressed Jeeves deeper into the mattress. This produced a pleasant sensation for both men, if the shudders were to be believed.

"Lucky...for us," Bertie gasped as their rocking intensified, "only I...drank...that potion."

Jeeves seemed to nod into the coverlet. His hands were fisted in the dark blue silk.

"Suppose...every bird...at the club...had sipped it." Bertie's voice was ragged now, dropping into Jeeves' burning ear. "Would you...be offering...your services to all those chaps, Jeeves?" The thought of every Drone lined up in the sitting room, their stiff pricks out, waiting for Jeeves to suck them off--Bertie licked his lips. The tip of his tongue darted further and lapped at the high point of Jeeves' ear. The man's cries were muffled in the bedclothes.

"Would you, Jeeves?" Bertie insisted.

Jeeves turned his head to gasp out, "I-if it pleased you, sir."

"Good man," Bertie groaned. His fingertips found their way to Jeeves' lips, and without even being asked, Jeeves suckled them gently. Starbursts marred Bertie's vision. "Come off now, Jeeves," he begged. His free hand wriggled beneath Jeeves' hips and grasped his hard cock, stroking it roughly. "I'm about there. Come off, come--"

Jeeves did as asked. His back curved into a bell shape, with Bertie still draped over it. His legs went rigid, trapping Bertie's member tightly. Bertie's hand was coated in sticky fluid, and then Jeeves' thighs received a similar treatment. For a moment, all was still as they stayed in that warm, wet tableau. Then Bertie rolled off to the side and attempted to catch his breath.

Bertie put a forearm over his eyes. He couldn't bear to see his valet, who had just been trying to cure him of his awful affliction. How had Bertie repaid that kindness? With filthy words and uncivilised debasement.

"Jeeves," he said weakly when he'd gotten his voice back, "you should probably escape now while you still can. There's no telling what this bally aphrodisiac will do next. I might try to ravish you again in a minute."

"Really, sir?" Jeeves drawled from somewhere else on the bed. "I must admit, I would be considerably impressed with your stamina if that's the case. I advise waiting at least half an hour before further exertions, though if you feel you are capable of--"

"Dash it, Jeeves! This is your safety we're talking about!" Bertie cast his arm aside and found Jeeves lounging against the headboard, shrugging out of what remained of his tattered shirt. The absolute calm with which Jeeves was facing this emergency enraged Bertie. "I--I might try to force you again and again until you're hurt, or worse!" Tears sprang to his eyes at the thought. Jeeves was such a stalwart companion, and he didn't deserve such a gruesome end.

Jeeves, for his part, slid under the sheets with what could only be called catlike laziness. "Sir, I'm afraid I have a confession to make," he said as he made himself comfortable in the master bed. "I do not believe you were under the influence of mind- or body-altering substances today."

Bertie's mouth fell open. "But the Oriental powders! Bingo said it--"

"I trust Mr Little sincerely believed in the potency of the product, sir. However, there has never been any conclusive evidence that anything in nature has the power to turn men into lustful monsters by heightening their libidos."

"Not oysters?"

"No, sir."

"Not saffron?"

"No, sir."

"Not Chinese herbs?"

"I fear not, sir."

"But Jeeves, if my libiwhatsit wasn't affected, then why did I--? How could I--?" Bertie's face contorted in horror.

Jeeves coughed lightly. "I failed to share this information previously, sir, but I believe you were acting under the spell of what medical professionals call the placebo effect."

"I thought it would happen, and so it happened, you mean?"

"Precisely, sir." Jeeves reached over to the bedside table, where Bertie's cigarette case sat. He selected some Turkish and lit up with a contented half-smile.

"Jeeves!"

"Sir?"

"You knew this whole time? And you didn't tell me it was all in my head?" Bertie's gall was rising. He could feel it in his throat.

"I thought it prudent, sir, to refrain from letting the cat out of the bag, as they say."

"But why!?"

Jeeves blew a smoke ring toward the ceiling. "I fancy I considered this a more diverting afternoon than polishing silver, sir." He lowered his gaze to Bertie at last, and Bertie could see the faintest traces of concern in those dark eyes. "It is difficult to ignore the glances you sometimes throw in my direction, sir. I was unsure what they meant. I had hoped--" He stubbed out the cig. "Well. It matters little what I hoped. Perhaps it was unfair of me to take advantage of the situation. But if I had left you to your own devices and gone back into the kitchen to finish the soup spoons, I would have spent the rest of my days wondering what your skin felt like, and what your voice does when you break apart." He shook his head. "My actions are selfish, certainly, but you must have wanted me as well. In some small way?"

Bertie looked at Jeeves, ensconced in his bed, wrapped up in his sheets, the most hopeful of hopeful looks that's trying not to appear too hopeful on his face. Bertie sighed. His anger had already leaked away. He crawled up to the head of the bed and snuggled down into the blankets and pillows. "A _very_ small way," he informed Jeeves.

"Oh, sir--"

"Now don't go getting too comfortable, Jeeves. I only think it wise we take a little nap. Regain our sapped strength. Recover from the ordeal."

"Certainly, sir."

Jeeves laid his head on Bertie's shoulder, and Bertie's arm wound round Jeeves like it was made for it.

"Wake me in--what was it you said? Half an hour?"

"Very good, sir."

"Very good, Jeeves."

  
fin


End file.
